


who's that clawing your heart out?

by lolainslackss



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Genderbending, Vaginal Fingering, lesbian manicure, the foxes have an all-girl line-up, wlw andreil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 04:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15064868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolainslackss/pseuds/lolainslackss
Summary: Five times Andromeda hated her sharp nails and one time she didn’t.(Genderbent Andreil AU featuring an all-girl line-up for the Foxes)





	who's that clawing your heart out?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonix/gifts), [exybee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exybee/gifts).



> for @moonix & @exybee who brainstormed this with me :,)
> 
> cw: fingering, references to oral, canon-typical violence, references to physical and sexual abuse

**one /  manicure**

 

“Make them as sharp as possible.”

The nail technician looks up, surprised at the nature of the request and then nods, gets back to filing. Andromeda knows what she’s thinking: black, matte nails sharpened into long, pointed claws? _Congratulations on being edgy_. Pairing them with the buzzcut, the smudged eyeliner, and her all-black wardrobe, she’s a borderline cliché. But her mother would have hated the nails, would have sneered at how striking they were, how beautiful. And it was her mother who was paying for them, after all.

The air inside the salon is thick with hairspray and nail polish fumes. It’s dizzying. She looks down at her hands. The black is stark against the white of her skin and she swallows.

Ever since she spun the wheel sideways she’s not been able to look at her hands without seeing blood, or without hearing Ariel’s voice whittled down to a whispered _what did you do?_

Not that she cares.

Mommy dies and it’s good riddance. Mommy dies and Andromeda gets a new car, a makeover.

“That’s you done,” the nail technician says, interrupting her thoughts.

Andromeda nods and looks down at the result - ten church steeples, a gothic skyline. They’re everything she wants them to be, until she reaches for her purse and loses grip. She curses, and the nail technician simply smiles politely as she waits for her payment.

“They take some getting used to if you’ve never had them done like that before,” the nail technician says, voice honeyed with sympathy, and Andromeda glares at her, not liking how transparent the comment makes her feel.

She manages to slip a bill out of her purse with her thumb and index finger, but the movement is clumsy, slow. She contemplates prising off each and every black half-diamond and tossing them in the trash but she doesn’t. The glue is half-set, tethered to her.

“Thanks,” the nail technician says, sliding the bill inside the cash register drawer.

Andromeda leaves without a word and strides across the parking lot to the car. Ariel sits, scowling and silent in the passenger-side seat, the same way she’s been for weeks. Her eyes are draped in shadows and her hands quiver in her lap.

“Wow, they look really _practical_ ,” Ariel mutters sarcastically when Andromeda grips the wheel with her newly-manicured fingers. Ariel’s lip jerks as she speaks and Andromeda tosses her the half-empty sports drink that’s sitting between them.

She’s right, though. They’re not practical, not really. Andromeda feels panic twitching in her chest like a dying insect. She’s always prided herself on her practicality, her reflexes. She’s fast - _no_ \- faster than fast. She strikes back hard; it’s how she’s made it this far. She stares at the nails and hates them suddenly, hates the potential hindrance they might be, how they might get in the way. Clenching the wheel, she forces the panic down, _down_.

“I’ll get used to it,” She says with a shrug, her eyes flitting to the clock on the dashboard.

Nico’s waiting for them at the airport, fresh off a plane from Germany. They’re already running late.

The car tears out of the parking lot, tires screeching, the radio screaming bloody murder. Ariel slams her hands over her ears, her skin bleaching whitest white.

It’s a long drive.

 

**two / rowan**

 

Kestrel is being boring.

Maybe she’s _always_ been boring. Andromeda can’t really tell. When they first started sharing a room, Andromeda used to be mesmerised by the curtain of black that was Kestrel’s hair - all beautiful and glittering, a galaxy studded with nebulas. The girlish eyelashes and the elegant, muscular limbs had been charming once upon a time. But now? She’s sloppy, drunk, and she’s flicking through her phone like a pathetic teenager with an unrequited crush. She’s looking at pictures at Thea and she’s close to tears and it’s so _boring_. Thea is boring and Kestrel is boring and Andromeda can’t believe she owes Allison twenty fucking dollars now.

(Allison had approached Andromeda around a month or so ago and she’d said, “bet you twenty bucks she’s on _my_ team,” pointing to the glittery _bicon_ pin attached to the lapel of her polo shirt.

Andromeda had taken one look at Kestrel Day and decided she was as straight as a pole, completely unaware of Thea fucking Muldani. Figures.)

Kestrel is burying her face in her hands now. _Great_ , Andromeda thinks, _just what this team needs. Another messy, melodramatic drunk_. One she’s sworn to protect, to watch over.

Because she’s a Kestrel who’s flown in from the Raven’s Nest, escaping the _unkindness_ in more ways than one. That had made Andromeda laugh a wild, sideshow laugh when she’d thought of it earlier in the day. Now, in the dark of the club, with the cracker dust beginning to wear off, it’s not so funny.  

She scans the club for Ariel and Nico and spots them dancing. That’s boring, too. How unfortunate.

That, inevitably, leaves Rowan.

The staff room door slams shut and Rowan slides the lock into place and Andromeda’s eyes dip to Rowan’s collarbone, her cleavage. She’s flushing red with anticipation.

“ _An_ -” Rowan begins, but Andromeda cuts her off with a rough shake of her head.

Rowan easily laces her hands behind her back, but it’s not good enough. Andromeda quirks an eyebrow and jerks her head toward a drawer she knows Rowan keeps locked. Rowan takes out a pair of handcuffs and lets Andromeda do the rest.

When she slips her hand up Rowan’s skirt and nudges aside her underwear, Andromeda’s not really shocked to find Rowan’s already wet. When the sighs begin to fill the room, Andromeda feels _herself_ grow heavy. It gets to the point where it’s almost painful and she speeds up, twirling Rowan’s clit between her fingers until-

“Ow,” Rowan hisses, wincing.

Andromeda stops as if her entire arm has been set on fire. She steps backwards, muttering apologies, a shameful, guilty feeling sputtering in her gut.

“No, _no_ ,” Rowan says, when she sees the look on Andromeda’s face. “You just caught me with on of your, um, claws.”

Andromeda frowns and looks down at her nails, annoyed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

(The first girl she’d ever gotten off with at juvie had these obscene, highlighter-pink nails and they’d been one of the hottest things Andromeda had ever seen.)

“It’s fine, really,” Rowan goes on, smiling. “You don’t have to stop.”

Andromeda breathes in and out and curls her hands into fists. When she moves, it’s to get down onto her knees, and Rowan’s eyes widen.

“An. You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to-”

“Shut up,” Andromeda snaps, lifting up the hem of Rowan’s skirt and leaning forward.

The next time she goes to the salon she tells the technician to file down the nails on her right-hand index and middle fingers. The technician asks no questions and neither does anyone else and from then, Andromeda wears them short: two neat, black squares.

 

**three / exy**

 

She’s said it before and she’ll say it again: Exy is a hellsport.

Kestrel is screaming at Nina, who’s spitting pure vitriol in response. Practice has been on pause for ten minutes and it’s annoying. Dan looks like she’s about to start cracking skulls. Allison, Martha and Sasha are sitting on the benches, resigned. Ariel and Nico are watching the fight, muttering to each other, probably betting on an eventual winner.

Renee is the only one who catches Andromeda’s eye, tilting her head to the side, posing a silent question.

Andromeda taps her nails against her racquet in an offbeat rhythm and nods.

Renee flashes her a smile that would make God blush.

That means they’ll be sparring later, which is good, because she’s three-hundred ways pissed off.

Exy is a pain in her ass.

A few weeks ago, Kestrel had forced Nina to spend hours on end trying to score a point against Andromeda. Being an idiot, Nina went too hard, blew her arms out, and nearly had a nervous breakdown in the process. But she didn’t score. She only _nearly_ scored, which caused Andromeda to reflexively dive to the right-hand side of the goal, hurling her racquet out and blocking the shot… breaking a nail.

She’d have rather given the (fake) point away.

The second nail broke when Kestrel tried to teach them some insipid Ravens’ technique which they’d all completely sucked at. Nina had been particularly annoying, so Andromeda had strode over and tangled her fingers in the newcomer’s precious racquet strings. A nail had snagged, snapped, and pinged off to the side, however, and that had been the last straw.

Exy had to go, or the manicure did. She certainly knew which one she liked more.

“You’ve kept the manicure,” Renee says through shallow breaths.

“What?” Andromeda replies, confused.

Renee jabs Andromeda’s shoulder. It stings.

“Last time we spoke you said you were getting rid of it,” Renee comments, her tone so flat and neutral that Andromeda thinks she’d make an excellent poker player. “What changed?”

Andromeda attempts an uppercut and misses.

“Exy keeps fucking it up,” she mutters, looking at the tattered nails poking out of the boxing tape. “I’m not sure which, if either, is worth the effort.”

Renee’s lips curve into a smile.

“I thought you didn’t like Exy,” she says, catching Andromeda’s cheekbone with her knuckles and drawing blood.

Andromeda hits back fast with a right hook and Renee sucks in a breath through her teeth.

“I _hate_ Exy,” Andromeda corrects her, but it’s not an answer, not really.

“Maybe multiple things are worth the effort?” Renee says sagely, causing Andromeda to roll her eyes.

“You sound like Kestrel,” she mutters eventually, thinking of words cast into the void, thick with promise.

She drives to the salon with all the windows down, her bruises humming a high-pitched tune. She leaves with half of her nails filed to darkened peaks, the other half smothered with night-sky acrylic.

In less than twenty-four hours, one will snag on the cage of her helmet, crack.

Exy is a hellsport.

 

**four / easthaven**

 

When she wakes, the nurse is clipping her nails short. Tiny, black crescent moons drop to the floor and Andromeda tries to kick out.

“Calm down,” the nurse chides, her grip tightening around Andromeda’s arm.

That only makes it worse.

“Fuck you,” Andromeda spits, the words puncturing the air like bullets. But the truth is, she’s weak. Her head is a crumpled up piece of paper. Her limbs are as slack as red licorice.  

“Dr. Proust has requested we get rid of these before you hurt someone,” the nurse’s gaze scans the scar tissue that lines Andromeda’s arms. “Or, before you hurt yourself.”

She snatches back Andromeda’s hand and clips the final nail. It’s painful. Andromeda’s fingertips feel raw and tender.

 _Good_ , Andromeda thinks, hating them.

What’s the use in a set of talons like that if they can’t fucking save you from places like this?

 

**five / riot**

 

The sound of men shouting makes her back straighten like a cat’s. Glass careening across the floor is bad, too, she thinks, as the broken shards bounce and skid in front of her.

She bites down hard and reaches for a knife, tugging it out of its hiding place beneath her armband. She wedges it between her knuckles and with her other hand, she winds her nails in the fabric of Kestrel’s hoodie, dragging her along.

It’s not until she hears Ariel shriek and curse that she realises there’s not enough of her to go around. She tucks the knife back inside her armband and takes Ariel’s hand in her own, their knuckles clacking together painfully.

(It’s a parody of a gesture, she knows that.)

A thought, sudden and sharp, hits her. She turns round, looking for a mop of red-wine curls and -

(the most beautiful mouth she’s ever kissed) -

orange sweats, only to find a violent blur of nothing.

 _Where the fuck is Nina?_ She thinks, biting down hard on the inside of her mouth.

Once she delivers a queasy-looking Kestrel and an Ariel who doesn’t want to let go of her hand to the bus, she whirls around on her heel, ready to go back, when-

“Get on the fucking bus, Minyard,” Wymack spits, appearing out of nowhere.

Andromeda narrows her eyes at the crowd. Renee is blood-flecked, empty-eyed; Allison looks ready to spit poison. Martha props up Dan with her shoulder and Nico brings up the rear, looking spooked.

There is no Nina.

Andromeda punches the bus doors and then looks down at her fractured nails, her weeping knuckles.

She only has two hands.

She only has two hands and what’s the fucking point of making them look pretty if you can’t save all the people you’re supposed to save?

 

**(+one) / nina**

 

It’s only after, later, that Nina tells her the nails have always been a distraction. Andromeda’s lips twist into a smile.

“Even when I hated you,” Nina had whispered, words offered into the darkened room like it’s a forfeit, “I was a little fixated. That first, cocky, two-fingered salute. When you’d wrap your hand around my neck to rest at my pulse or flick a cigarette off the side of the roof. They’re hypnotic.”

And they’re pretty fucking hypnotic right now, Andromeda supposes, as her fingertip rotates in quick, fast circles around Nina’s clit. She lunges forward and dips her hand down, feeling the wetness pooling there. She drags the wetness upward, catches Nina between her index and middle finger and rubs it in.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” Nina breathes, heels digging into the mattress, “it’s perfect.”

Andromeda continues twisting her fingers, pressing down firmly.

“Have you ever been this wet before?” She drawls, something like triumph etched on her face.

Nina snaps her eyes shut and whines, shaking her head. “Never felt this good before,” she babbles, the words spilling out of her in one, quick stream.

“Interesting,” Andromeda remarks dryly. She slides her other hand against her own underwear and presses down against the warmth gathering there. The hot, swollen feeling subsides a little, and she leaves her hand resting there as she continues to bring Nina to the edge.

She can’t believe Nina is so responsive underneath her fingertips. Her brain automatically begins to wonder how she’ll react when Andromeda uses her tongue, or a _toy_. The thought makes her breath hitch and she’s rubbing herself in earnest now.

Nina notices and lets out a surprised gasp. It’s not long before she’s coming.

“Promise me you’ll never get rid of the nails,” Nina says. She’s still shivery from the orgasm and watching Andromeda get herself off with a look of pure wonder.

Andromeda is inclined to agree.

The nails were a good decision.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](http://palmetttos.tumblr.com) if you wanna chat or let me know about terrible typos


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